


a world beyond this

by bonebo



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Other, but when is he not, kinda sappy, ryan is a little crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: You wake in a bedroom draped in crimson and gold, with the warm weight of the Mad King a solid presence by your side.It’s almost surreal, to look over at him--to see the lines of his face relaxed as he sleeps, the ease of his expression and how peaceful he appears in slumber. You know it’s not true--know that the lips currently slack as he breathes have ordered dozens to their deaths, have spit venom and vitriol at everyone, including you--but it’s an enjoyable fantasy, something that’s easy to get lost in as you lay there, half-asleep and warm in the silken cocoon of the fine cotton sheets.You doze while the sun paints the sky in broad strokes of pink and yellow, lazy and lulled in the rare illusion of security. By the time dawn has fully broken you stir again, only to find the rest of the bed cold and empty.





	a world beyond this

You wake in a bedroom draped in crimson and gold, with the warm weight of the Mad King a solid presence by your side.

It’s almost surreal, to look over at him--to see the lines of his face relaxed as he sleeps, the ease of his expression and how peaceful he appears in slumber. You know it’s not true--know that the lips currently slack as he breathes have ordered dozens to their deaths, have spit venom and vitriol at everyone, including you--but it’s an enjoyable fantasy, something that’s easy to get lost in as you lay there, half-asleep and warm in the silken cocoon of the fine cotton sheets.

You doze while the sun paints the sky in broad strokes of pink and yellow, lazy and lulled in the rare illusion of security. By the time dawn has fully broken you stir again, only to find the rest of the bed cold and empty.

“...Ryan?” The marble floor is all but shocking when your feet touch it, freezing despite the sunlight spilling in bold and bright through the window. You walk quickly to the bedroom door and peek out into the hall, looking for the broad shoulders or the swipe of a crimson cape, the soft bounce of chestnut curls. 

But the corridor is empty. The Mad King is nowhere in sight--it’s just the bannisters and the stairs and the fine-woven tapestries of blood and bone and conquest hanging on the walls that greet you. When you call for him again, the only answer you get is the echo of your own voice off the polished marble and brick, and standing by yourself in the middle of it the grand, spacious castle makes you suddenly realize how looming and lonely the space actually is.

You drag your fingertips across one tapestry, a long banner of crimson depicting one of the Mad King’s favourite tales: the story of evil Edgar and his entrapment, black thread capturing the image of the yawning hole stretching all the way down to the Nether that became his prison. It’s a legend you’ve heard more times than you can remember; and every time the King tells it his face is the same, from the wicked, knife-sharp curves of his smile to the bloodlust in his glittering, dark eyes.

Not all his stories are told that way. You like the softer ones--the ones that make his smile more genuine, that make the corners of his eyes crinkle a little around the edges.

He feels more real that way; more human, less the divine being that you fear you’ll never be good enough to please. More like the Ryan you know, and not the Mad King that the people worship and praise.

It’s the soft call of your name that jerks you out of your thoughts--has you looking away from the tapestry and down the hall, to where the strong form that you’ve come to know and love is climbing up the stairs. 

Ryan cuts just as imposing a figure as he always does, even in the comfort of his own home; with the crimson folds of his cape billowing out behind him, the gleam of the crown tucked into his chestnut curls, he still looks every bit the god that the people say he is. But then he smiles--a soft, gentler thing than he seems capable of--and you come to realize again that this is a god you would gladly devote your life to.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, as he comes closer to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his side; the motion forces the cape to cover you, draping you in warmth that smells of him and the wild-spice of somewhere beyond the Nether. “What are you doing out here like this? You’ll catch a cold. Come now, let’s get you back to bed.” 

It’s easy to follow his guidance, when he steers you back toward the warmth of your bedroom--easier still with his voice coaxing you, his words like honey in your ear as he murmurs, “My most beloved treasure shouldn’t be up this early, anyway...you haven’t even had breakfast yet. But I can arrange that for you, my sweet, don’t you worry about that…”

Ryan’s voice fades off as he reaches out to pull the thick comforter on the bed back, and from there it’s just you climbing into the sheets’ welcoming embrace with his warm hand light on your shoulder. By the time you’ve nestled down into the soft sheets, Ryan is standing over you again, and leans down to press a light kiss against your hairline.

“You stay put, sweet thing. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

So you do, staying curled up under the blankets where it’s silky and warm and burying your face into the comforting softness of your pillow. You have to admit, the bedrest is a welcome change--you’ve been worked to the bone for the past month and a half, stressed to the max from sunup to sundown helping Ryan run his kingdom, and getting to stay in bed past dawn is a luxury you'd almost forgotten.

So satisfying is the rest, in fact, that you find yourself dozing off before you know it; and it's the sound of Ryan's boots on the tile floor that has you stirring again. You sit upright slowly, stretch your arms over your head--and when you glance over, it’s to find Ryan at your bedside, with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Hey, sweetness,” he murmurs, sitting on the bed beside you and settling the tray in his lap. There’s a mound of fluffy eggs on it, piled next to a few golden-brown strips of thick-cut bacon and toast, and it looks delicious enough to have your mouth watering. 

“Are these from our animals?” you ask--and Ryan grins, as if there’s going to be an answer that isn’t yes, as if he wouldn’t put only the best in front of you.

“Of course. Do you think I would serve my personal majesty anything else?”

That makes you smile, pulls a soft chuckle from your lips; Ryan kisses you, shares the smile, shares the happiness.

It’s in these moments you love him the most.

You eat in a pleasant quiet--not as King and subject, but as lovers, partners, just two people sharing your most intimate feelings, thoughts, moments--and by the time you’ve cleaned your plate the sleepiness has crawled back over you, a warm buzzing feeling that settles over your body like honeyed wine.

“You still look tired, my love,” Ryan murmurs, cupping your cheek in one large palm to tilt your head up, to make you meet his soft smile. “Do you need more rest? I will leave you be, if you want. If more sleep would ensure your comfort.”

“No…no.” You lay your hand over his own and meet his gaze warmly. “I think what I need is to get out...to get some fresh air. See the kingdom you’ve built for us, and take in all of its majesty with its creator by my side.”

And so that’s exactly what you do--after Ryan helps you out of bed you get dressed in the finery he’s bought for you, in billowing fabric all red and black and gold, draped in chain of bone-white and onyx. The horses are waiting for you both when you reach the stables--they’re tacked up in simple saddles of supple leather today, but on the walls the battle-scarred diamond armor hangs and remembers and _waits_ \--and together you two head out, urging the horses up into a swift canter to peruse the kingdom you rule.

All in all it’s a pleasant ride. The gardens are your first stop, and the cluster of homes that house the villagers who tend to them; they wave as you pass by, standing barefoot amid the carrots and wheat, and Ryan grins at them, raising a hand of his own in greeting.

You dip your head politely, because you know that they are not that interested in you. It’s almost a comfort.

Following the river that feeds the gardens takes you down toward the quarries, where more villagers work with pickaxe and shovel to harvest the coal that lights the palace torches, the gravel that paves the town roads, and the diamond that forms the sword strapped to Ryan’s waist. They too look up at your approach--wave at the Mad King, friendly as they can be while they fear for their lives--and it’s only when you’re riding away that you work up the courage to ask, “Does it ever bother you?”

Ryan glances over, a brow quirked. “Does... _what_ ever bother me?”

“All of that.” You gesture behind you, to where the solid clinks and thuds of the quarry’s music are starting to fade. “They’re terrified of you, even if they hide it behind smiles. Do you not worry, ruling over a group of people who only know fear tagged to your name?”

Ryan pauses, considers--then laughs, throwing his head back. The crown shifts atop his messy curls, and for a moment you could swear it flashes red in the sunlight.

“Of course not,” he says, grinning at you like you’ve just told him a wonderful, silly joke. “Why should I care what they say about me, while I’m gone? If all it takes is showing my face to have them smiling, then what does it matter?”

“They clearly don’t respect you--”

“I don’t require their respect,” Ryan cuts in, waving a hand dismissively. “Only their obedience. And as that is what I require, that is what they give me; and what more do I need?”

You fall quiet, mulling it over; and you think of the First, and the wrinkles around his dark eyes when he smiles, the way he can charm the crowd at his favourite tavern with a loud drinking song. You think of the Red King and his sharp humor, the Warrior King with his blade bloodied by those who would hurt the people under his rule.

“I guess....nothing,” you say, shrugging as you urge your horse into a trot to catch up with Ryan’s. 

“That’s exactly right.”

A quiet falls between the two of you for a few long minutes--with nothing else to listen to, you focus on the soft pants of your mount, the way the breeze makes the leaves rustle. Ryan is leading you through the jungle, where the trees are thick and ocelots prowl; and it isn’t until you’ve reached the end of the shoreline, stopped your horse on a cliff that overlooks the shining sea, that he speaks again.

“I don’t need anything more from them,” he starts, his voice quieter than normal, almost pensive. He glances over at you, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Because I have you.”

You nearly choke on your tongue. “...me?”

“Yes. You.” Ryan reaches over to take your hand, and squeezes it warmly inside the calloused cage of his own. “You are my everything, and you give me everything...so what could they possibly offer me, that would be of any significance?” 

“I…” You have to swallow to clear your throat, trying to scramble for something to say. “I don’t--I don’t know, Ryan, that’s…”

You trail off, confused and hapless in the face of such raw intimacy; and Ryan laughs again, softer than before as he lets your hand slip free.

“It is alright.” He casts his gaze back out to the sea, the smile on his face settling like he fully intends to keep it there for a long while. “I was just as startled when I realized it myself...but it’s true. This realm is lovely, it is beautiful and varied and rich with supplies…”

He shakes his head slowly, like he’s amused by some inside joke that you’re not privy to, and turns a sheepish look your way.

“This realm may be what I rule, but ultimately, _you_ are my world.”


End file.
